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User blog:High Prince Imrahil/Tales of the Last of Middle Earth - Part 1: the fall of Gondor
Hello, all! Imrahil here and there is something I'd like to say before we get on with today’s story: this has nothing to do with "Adventures of Prince Imrahil" and is an entirely different series. It does center around a protagonist "Imrahil" but it is NOT AoPI canon. I just wanted a change of pace, so I've started a new series based on the "Last of Middle-Earth" RP. This takes place in an alternate universe where Sauron took the ring from Frodo at Mt. Doom. This follows Imrahil, his son Elphir, and his squire Travian as they wage a three-man guerilla war against the forces of Darkness. Let the story begin! Smog filled the air, and the stench of death wafted up from the South Causeway where the enemy attacked hardest: Dol Amroth was under siege, the last stronghold of Gondor For a number of years after the Disaster of Morannon (a horrible battle in which Aragorn, Gandalf and many others perished. Imrahil was the lone survivor.), Gondor managed to stand against Sauron, but all new that the Dunedain wouldn't stand much longer: little by little orcs took the land, until the dark lord ruled all Gondor East of Dor-en-Ernil. Minas Tirith was in ruins, Pelgir was alight, and Dol Amroth was the final refuge Gondor had. For Sauron it was an incredible opportunity: nearly all of his greatest foes had rallied there, from Farimor to Hurin to Imrahil himself, Sauron had a chance to wipe them all out in a single blow: and he intended to. Hundreds of thousands of orcs came from Mordor, thousands of tribesmen from Harad and Khand, and upon a fleet of black ships came the entire imperial army of Umbar. Dol Amroth would be crushed entirely: so great would be their defeat that Gondor never again rose against Sauron. But still, Imrahil had a duty, and though his men were outnumbered over several thousand-to-one, Imrahil prepared his small force for a last stand. '-The battle for Dol Amroth-' The orcs had taken all the city upon the mainland, but still the Tirith Aear, the Sea-ward tower remained unconquered: an vast island fortress in the midst of the bay, accessible only by a small stone bridge to the main city. Here, upon the highest level of the tower sat Farimor, Imrahil, Elphir, Travian, Hurin, and Amrothos at a war table: they were supposed to be making battle-plans, but they were silent and sober: each knew that planning was in vain: no doubt it would only be a half hour before they all lay dead upon the blades of scimitars. "Gentlemen!" said Imrahil at last "What would Aragorn think if he saw us now?? We have a chance to fight back against the enemy, even if only for a little while. We will perish indeed, but would the King Elessar have us sit here silently, like prisoners to be executed? No! We will fight to the highest floor! We will fight to the last room! To the last man! To the last breathe! We will make such a name for ourselves, that although He will have the victory, the thrice-damned Dark Lord will rue the day he ever made war upon Gondor!" "For Gondor!" shouted Farimor, raising his sword to the air "For Gondor!" came the reply from the rest of the captains. And they set immediately to the planning of battle, re-vigorated and recharged. But as they left the war-room fifteen minutes later, Farimor grabbed Imrahil's arm. "Uncle," said Farimor looking into Imrahil's eyes "we have both lost much in this war: you have lost your daughter, and I have lost my shield-maiden. But I would like to say that fighting beside you has been the greatest honor in all my life. No matter what befalls in the enemy's next wave of attack, I would like you to know that ere we both perish." They embraced for a moment, and left the room: those were the last words Farimor would ever speak to his beloved uncle. Farimor went down the steps that led towards the gate that he was to defend, and Imrahil went crossed the hall to the armoury to be suited up for battle. Farimor walked down the steps and to the lower battlements of the tower, picking up his bow and dagger on the way. As he stepped out onto the battlements, there was an unsettling silence: no din of battle, no screams, no sound of metal upon metal. The archers of Gondor sat upon the ground, feeding campfires and eating their slim rations: none were at their bows. "Madril!" shouted Farimor to the chief archer there "Why in Manwe's name aren't we firing?!" "They're out of bowshot, sir!" said Madril "We can't see much through this smoke, but I fear He's got some sort of devilry prepared for us." Farimor walked over to the edge and looked out over the water towards the city: sure enough there was not an orc in sight. Very strange. . . Just then, Travian came out onto the battlement as well, bearing his longbow and barbed arrows. "Travian!" said Farimor "Ask Imrahil's permission to send out a scout party and find out what in the name of Varda is going on out there!" "Aye, sir!" said the young squire, and he was up the stairs like a shot. "Hold that, Travian!" shouted Farimor: for even as Travian had spoke, a black horseman emerged from the fog, and made his way towards the gate below, his hand in the air as a token of parley. But out of all the men in that doomed tower, only one recognized the black rider: Imrahil recognized him as the hideous Mouth of Sauron whom Gandalf had so hastily rejected just before the Disaster of Morannon. A moment later, Imrahil, Amrothos, Elphir, Travian, and Farimor rode out upon great steeds and met the mouth at the middle of the bridge. The Mouth stood before them and laughed. "So we meet again, young fool!" he said turning to Imrahil with scorn "Do you not remember our last encounter? Ha! How haunty thoust is, attempting to bring war against Sauron the Great, and now you shall suffer for it!" He turned to Amrothos Travian and Elphir. "And why dost thou bring children into this parley?" he said mockingly Then, turning to Farimor, he said "So it is the 'almighty steward of Gondor', eh? Ha! Look at where you are now! Defending some useless pile of stone with children and a fool for comrades, while your precious city lies in ruins!" Travian made a move for his sword, but Farimor stopped him. "Surely you have come to offer me terms of surrender!" said Imrahil "Name them now!" "Simple!" said the mouth "Surrender now, and instead crushing your forces in battle and torturing the survivors to death, we will ship them off to be slaves in Harad." A laugh echoed through the air, except that this time it was the laugh of Imrahil. "Do you truly think me a fool??" he said "We are men of Gondor: we are honorable and brave, traits your master is obviously not familiar with! Go back to whence you came, if you have not any reasonable terms!" The mouth stood there for a moment. Then, with an evil laugh, he galloped back acrossed the bridge: the fate of Gondor was sealed. The captains turned and prepared to ride back to the tower, and as they did Imrahil looked one last time at Tirith Aear: proud banners flying in the breeze, flags hung from the battlements, and the white walls standing against the black smoke. They rode back into the tower, and as the gate shut behind them, the storm broke: thousands of orc drums pounded like rolling thunder, and hundreds of Haradrim trumpets rang out through the air. "The battle for Dol Amroth is over:" mumbled Imrahil to Travian and Amrothos "the fall of Dol Amroth has begun." '-The first wave-' Rhunic priests chanted horrible spells of ruin and death, and slowly and calmly a company of heavily armoured Haradrim champions marched acrossed the bridge carrying a ram. "Ready!" shouted Farimor, who was already on the lower battlements "aim. . ." The Haradrim knew what was coming, but they flinched nor fled, but rather continued forward with a cold confidence. "Fire!" shouted Farimor The Haradrim had thick armour, but these were battle-hardened rangers: they had been in many a battle against the Haradrim and knew all the weak spots of their armour. The arrows came down like rain, and Farimor's rangers were dead shots: not one of them missed their mark. All but a few of the Haradrim lay dead upon the stone bridge, and the rest fled. Sauron realized that the gate was too heavily defended for a frontal attack, so he let loose the stage of his plan. . . The first melee action took place not at the gate, but rather on the lower battlements where Farimor's archers were: Sauron had prepared a fleet of ships fashioned like siege-towers: so tall were they, that they could pull along side Tirith Aear and allow Umbarian marines to pour onto the battlements. At first it only took a few squadrons of Gondorian archers to handle this threat, but as more and more Umbarians boarded the tower, more and more archers were forced to abandon their posts to skirmish with them. Sauron’s minions could now cross nearly free of the ranger's deadly arrows. Meanwhile, at the gate, Amrothos was in command of the men-at-arms there, and watched helplessly as orcs swarmed acrossed the bridge and began to batter down the doors. "Stand your ground!" shouted Amrothos "you are men of Gondor! And when we all stand in the halls of Mandos tonight, we shall sing of this victory!" "Gondor!" rose the cry of Elphir who stood nearby "For Gondor!" rose the cry of the men "today we shall die!" continued Amrothos in rising spirit "but so great and glorious will be our end, that when we see Elessar and Elendil in the timeless halls, we shall not be ashamed!" "For Gondor!" rose the cry again. But even as he made his rousing speech, he saw the doors slowly breaking down: it would not be long now. With a final crash, the gate was thrown open, and the orcs poured into the tower. It was here that Hurin fell, stabbed in the back by a Haradrim while fighting against a Rhunic champion. Indeed many Gondorians fell in that first great push, and those that survived were forced all the way back to the stairwell. The valour of Amrothos and Elphir in that hour was great, and their swords shone like swift flame that flew amongst the orcs. Indeed, some of the enemies were starting to flee, and the Gondorians began to gain back towards the gate, but just then a company of armour Olog-hai took the field, and the lines of the Dunedain were utterly broken. They fled up the steps with all they had, and prepared to make a second stand near the door to the armoury. Meanwhile, high above the battle, upon the upper floors, Imrahil sat in his room, looking 'round at it for the final time: for indeed this had served as his palace in happier times, and he had spent many happy hours here ere the cursed war tore his life apart. He looked at it one last time: the sea-blue curtains, the bookshelves, the chess set. . . . ah, the chess set! He walked over to the table and held the pieces in his hand: how many times he had played with Elphir and Amrothos, although he nearly always lost against his sons. Imrahil missed those days, when life was simple and the only war was a few skirmishes with Umbarian raiders. . . how much better things had been then. Setting the pieces down, Imrahil turned and walked out the door: there was no more time for memories, war now called him. Running down the steps with Travian by his side, he met with Amrothos and Farimor's forces and joined them in their stand at the armoury. It was fairly successful, although short lived: a mountain troll shattered their lines, and they were forced to flee upwards again. Higher and higher, they retreated, stopping now and then to fight. More and more of the tower was lost to the enemy. All that was left of the Gondorians, finally were backed up to the top floor: they ran into the war-room and shut the door behind them, seeking to keep it barred for as long as possible. '-The fall of Dol Amroth- ' Finally, after around five minutes, a troll burst through the door with many Haradrim close behind. Imrahil put up a brave fight, but slowly himself, Elphir, and Travian were forced backwards into one balcony, and Amrothos was forced into different one. Elphir slayed many orcs, but he was hit over the head with an orcish club and fell unconscious into the water. Travian was hit with the blunt end of a spear, and fell off the balcony as well. Imrahil stood alone, the last survivor in the entire tower. His swordplay was outmatched, and (So the story goes, though Imrahil himself was the only witness) he slayed thirty orcs, twelve Haradrim, and a mountain troll. But at last, three Haradrim champions managed to bring him down by striking at his feet: Imrahil fell into the endless water below, and Gondor, the beacon of hope for thousands upon thousands of years had fallen. Category:Blog posts